


Post-Graduate Studies

by katbear, Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [28]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:12:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katbear/pseuds/katbear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred
Summary: Ben's moving on...





	Post-Graduate Studies

Title: Post-Graduate Studies

Author: Lady_Saddlebred (cdelapin@yahoo.com) 

Archive: Yes, please

Category: Q/O, Alternate Reality, Romance, Humor, Angst

Rating: NC-17

Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me in School

 

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just playing in his playground.

Special thanks to Merry Amelie and to Helen, les betas par excellence! 

A VERY special thank you to Katbear for graciously agreeing to co-author this story with me. Couldn’t have done it without you!

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Does Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess   
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  
Fit to Print  
Daffodils  
Spring Cotillion  
Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me?  
A Pen for Your Thoughts  
When I Was Your Age  
Partners  
Mum’s the Word  
Best Laid Plans  
An Apple for Teacher  
What’s for Supper?  
Quinn’s Special Day  
Pacifier  
Snow Angels  
One Man’s Junk  
May I Have This Dance?  
Four Green Fields  
Too Darned Hot  
Pomp and Circumstances  
Summertime Blues  
Blow the Man Down

~*~*~*~

Deborah Billingsley was typing at her desk when a sonorous voice floated through Dean Winters’ open doorway. What on earth? 

“… Mark Winters, you are an arrogant toady. Really, a half-trained seal could do better. Do try again.” 

A succinct expletive in a voice she *did* recognize. Then, “*Deborah*!”

“Yes, sir?” she answered, walking into his office. “What- what is that?” she stammered.

A hooded figure, holding a scythe and pointing a skeletal finger was centered on the Dean’s oversized flat-screen monitor. It reminded her eerily of Christmas Yet to Come from Dickens’ holiday classic.

“That’s what *I’d* like to know,” the Dean grated out. “It just… appeared out of nowhere. I was looking at the budget proposals for the fall term and it was just… there. And the thing talks! It called me by name! Did you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” Deborah agreed, mystified. “It sounded like it was coming from a… a tomb. You mean, it was… that?” She pointed at the figure, which seemed to be patiently waiting for the Dean’s next move.

Winters nodded grimly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect the computer majors uploaded some kind of virus. But that’s impossible. We have state-of-the-art system security, and Mr. Kensington…” He trailed off. 

Ben Kensington didn’t work there anymore. And the Board of Governors, for reasons known only to themselves, were dragging their feet on replacing him. He needed to make that a priority item.

“Get this fixed,” he ordered, and Deborah made a note on her pad. “Get a service company in here, pronto. Tell them it’s an emergency. If this *is* a virus, there’s no telling how fast and how far it might spread.”

“Right away,” Deborah said, and returned to her desk. She struggled not to giggle. Virus or not, the Dean’s reaction had been priceless. She hadn’t known he even knew such words.

Then she eyed her own laptop, wondering if it, too, was going to suddenly start talking trash. She pulled up her contacts list to find a repair person, wishing not for the first time that Ben Kensington hadn’t resigned.

~*~*~*~

“Quinn?”

“Bonjour, jolie. What can I do for my favorite lady on this fine summer morning?”

“Je t’aime aussi, cheri. Dites-moi, have you talked to Ben recently?”

“Not today, no. Why do you ask?”

“Have you heard what is happening to the campus computers?”

“Please tell me someone’s found a way to drown the lot in the ocean, and we’re all going back to clay tablets and styli.”

“Very amusing, mon ami. I am sorry to disappoint you, but no. However, it is said there is a- a computer virus of some kind. Machines have taken on personalities. Rather… unique personalities.” 

“Really?” Quinn said, intrigued. “Sounds fascinating. Tell me more.”

“You have not accessed your computer?” Adele asked, surprised.

“*Some* of us aren’t teaching summer session, thanks be to God.” 

“Hmph.” An entirely ladylike snort. “Perhaps you *should*, just to be sure nothing has invaded it, n’est-ce pas?”

“Has yours been affected?” All concern now for a fellow colleague.

“C’est tres étrange. There is nothing overt, but somehow I have a feeling that there could be something… hiding in there. Oh, I so wish Ben were still here. I am sure he would know precisely what to do. Why has the Board not replaced him, Quinn? Whatever are they *waiting* for?” She paused. “What if… what if this is some sort of a cyber-attaque? Do you not think-”

“Oh, I’m sure it‘s nothing like that, jolie,” Quinn soothed. “Seriously, who would want to target the Academy? But if I see Ben, I’ll be sure to ask him about it.”

Her musical laugh suddenly rang over the line. “Mark is absolutely obsessing. He refuses to even turn his computer on, after it threatened him yesterday.”

“Threatened? How?” Quinn asked, hoping for the worst.

“Apparently, it called him a… what did Deborah say, a ‘toady,’ and said a trained seal could do his job better.” She giggled. “Ce serait drole si ce n’etait pas si grave.”

Quinn laughed with her. “Oh, my God, to have been a fly on the wall. Viens, jolie, turn yours on and see what it does,” he urged. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

“Non, merci beaucoup,” she replied tartly. “But do try yours, if you are feeling brave. I have to run to class. A bientot, cheri!”

~*~*~*~

The Dean’s “Grim Reaper” was apparently only the tip of the iceberg. Calls began pouring in from those departments hosting summer session classes, all similarly complaining of “cyber-invaders.” Interestingly, from the descriptions, it sounded as if each had been tailored to a specific user. 

Professor Smythe-Wellington was incensed when his avatar rudely thumbed its nose at him and made sarcastic comments about his ancestors. Then it dared to caricature him, capering about in silk stockings and pink satin pantaloons, a la King George III! Such blatant disrespect of a visiting lecturer was *not* to be tolerated, he insisted to Dean Winters, who shrugged helplessly. He stormed out of the office, hurling invectives over his shoulder. Once safely out of sight, the Dean actually *grinned*, before returning to his inner sanctum. Minutes later, Deborah swore she heard him laughing. Dean Winters *never* laughed! What was the world coming to?

The female faculty and staff fared slightly better than their male counterparts. Their “ghoulies,” while often outrageously flirtatious, never quite crossed the line into outright harassment. Professor Gauliere was said to have nearly swooned the first time her sexy French sailor sang to her, while holding out a red rose. Deborah’s personal little mischief-maker, too, was suitably adoring, with beautiful bedroom eyes that she was even beginning to see in her dreams…

~*~*~*~

Deborah sighed. “Sir, I’m sorry, but we can’t get a technician here until at least next week,” she called to the Dean in his office. “I told everyone I called that it was a priority, but apparently they’re all short-staffed right now. Summer vacations and all that.”

“Damn,” Mark Winters swore. “Thank you, Deborah. Send an email out to the campus, warning of a possible virus, and telling everyone to be very judicious in what they access. *No* Internet searches; that’s probably how it got in to begin with. And tell them to make sure their security software is up to date.” 

“Yes, sir,” Deborah said. 

Oh, how she wished Ben Kensington hadn’t resigned. He’d always been Johnny-on-the-spot, 24/7, and could fix anything. Such a nice man. Cute, too. She’d almost made a play for him more than once. 

Oh, well, too late now…

~*~*~*~

Ben opened the door to the brownstone, ahead of Quinn’s key in the lock. “Come on in, you two.”

Adele smiled. “Bonsoir, cher Ben. Merci beaucoup for inviting me to dinner. Such a lovely surprise.”

“Cheers, love,” Quinn said easily, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to find Ben there when he got home. It gave Ben a warm fuzzy feeling; they were definitely on the road to recovering their relationship.

The evening was to show their gratitude to their favorite Parisienne for all her help since the Xandra Criton fiasco. She’d defied the Board of Governors on their behalves, babysat a heartbroken Quinn when Ben had walked away without a backward glance, and quite literally bullied the two of them into kissing and making up in New York City. 

Quinn had suggested dinner; Ben had opted for the brownstone. Private, intimate, where the three could interact comfortably, without worrying about prying eyes. Probably silly to still think that way, Ben knew. However, Quinn had not only acquiesced, he’d even offered to cook. Ben had come over early, dusted and vacuumed, then set the dining-room table with Quinn’s best Irish linens, Lenox china, flatware and Waterford crystal. Quinn’s homemade spaghetti was simmering on the stove-top, and the whole house was redolent. 

They made themselves comfortable in the living room. Adele sat on the sofa next to Ben, while Quinn settled in his oversized easy chair, Bernini at his feet.

“I love this room, don’t you, Ben?” Adele commented, as she sipped her drink. “So warm and cozy, even without a fire.” Ben nodded. “Did Quinn ever show you what it looked like before he remodeled it?” She smiled over at Quinn. “It was… somewhat less attractive, but now…”

Quinn grimaced and stood. “An understatement. The album’s in the top drawer of the breakfront, Ben, if you want to reacquaint yourself. I’m going to check on dinner. Excuse me,” he said, moving toward the kitchen.

After he left, Adele leaned back on the sofa. “You’re rather quiet, mon cher. Is everything alright between the two of you?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Ben said quickly. “I’m just kind of bummed that I still haven’t found a job.”

“Be patient, mon ami. You have put yourself out there; now you just need to find the right match. It will happen. I know it.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Ben said, smiling and clicking his glass to hers. 

Quinn reappeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Madame et Monsieur, dinner is served.”

~*~*~*~

The spaghetti was every bit as good as Ben remembered, the Chianti probably a bit higher quality than what he had supplied the night of his and Quinn’s first date. The salad was fresh from the garden out back, and Quinn’s latest experimental dressing was a hit. Ben had contributed fresh garlic bread and a luscious Boston cream pie for dessert. 

Afterward, they returned to the living room with small glasses of grappa. They discussed Adele’s summer-session classes and Quinn’s upcoming biology symposium in Philadelphia. Ben listened and made appropriate comments, but couldn’t help feeling just a bit outclassed. His lover and their closest friend were both tenured professors, and he was working part-time at the local Apple store. True, he’d aced the A+ certification exam, and was preparing to take the Network+ test, both of which should make him more attractive to prospective employers. So far, however, there’d been only a handful of interviews, and nothing had panned out. It was hard not to feel sorry for himself.

Conversation was interrupted by a piercing whine, and his cell phone vibrated on his belt. Bernini howled in protest, and Ben grabbed the phone, muting the ring. A quick glance at the Caller ID had him scrambling to his feet. “Sorry, guys, but I need to take this. Excuse me?”

Quinn gestured down the hall. “Use the study, love.”

“Thanks.” He headed for the hallway, then turned back with a grin. “No talking about me behind my back now.”

“What do you suppose that was about?” Quinn asked curiously, as Ben hurried out of the room.

Adele shrugged. “C’est tres importante, évidemment. I only hope it is not bad news.”

Quinn packed his pipe. “I thought he looked rather… pleased, didn’t you?” 

Adele nodded thoughtfully. “We must hope so, n’est-ce pas?” 

The co-conspirators smiled at one another and settled in to wait.

~*~*~*~

Ben returned about fifteen minutes later, looking a bit dazed, but also… excited? Quinn sat forward. “Well?”

“Um,” Ben mumbled, then stopped halfway to the sofa. He had an odd look on his face, as if he were struggling with something. “One of the companies I applied to wants me to come in for an interview day after tomorrow.”

“C’est magnifique!” Adele enthused. “Oh, Ben, that is wonderful news!”

Quinn echoed her sentiments, even as he studied Ben’s body language. The lad *seemed* pleased. Probably just nervous over the upcoming appointment. “Sit down and tell us about it, yeah?” he urged, beckoning Ben to the ottoman, where he could sit facing both Quinn and Adele comfortably.

Ben took a deep breath as he sat down. “It’s a little odd, really. The main company is pretty large, but it sounds like this job is for a new subdivision, consolidating their direct customer support. It’d be similar to what I was doing at the Academy, I think, but working with other techs and for multiple customers. Potentially, I mean. I need to do some research before the interview.” 

He grew visibly more animated as he talked, and Quinn breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He knew Ben had been disappointed when the New York employment agencies had frankly told him his age was a factor working against him, despite his years of experience in the field. Not even thirty-three years old, and they’d made him feel as if he were over the hill.

“What is the name of the company?” Adele asked.

“First Call,” Ben replied, and Adele let out a squeal of excitement.

“But that is one of the companies the school is considering!” she exclaimed. “I had lunch with Deborah Billingsley on Friday, and she said they had narrowed it down to two choices. I am sure she mentioned them specifically! Oh, Ben! Combien il est passionnant!”

Ben stared. “Way too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?” He looked over at Quinn, who merely shrugged.

“I don’t subscribe to coincidences, Ben. There’s a Plan in everything that happens, good or bad. Never doubt it.”

Ben nodded, then stood. “Well, much as I’d love to sit and chat, I’d better get back. I need to do some homework.”

Quinn and Adele rose with him. “Good idea,” Quinn agreed. “I’ll drive you to the apartment, and drop Adele off, too. I can clean up when I get back.”

Ben knew better than to protest. He wanted do some online research on the new company, and make sure he had clean copies of his reference letters and his résumé. Thank goodness he’d had his suit dry-cleaned after New York...

~*~*~*~

Ben sat in his rental car, taking slow, deep breaths. He was a bit early, but had wanted some time to collect himself. 

He was impressed with what he had been able to find out about First Call – the company was solid and growing, with a good reputation in the industry for their network, system and cyber work. Their main offices were located in a nice upscale commercial park, conveniently less than a half-hour drive from Quinn's brownstone. They’d driven over together the evening before to scope out the place. If things panned out, he’d have to think about getting some wheels, at least until the ’stang was street-legal. He had to admit the late-model silver Taurus sedan was a lot more convenient than taking the bus.

He hadn't found a lot on the new division. It was pretty much just a small box on a very recent organizational chart. 

With a final glance in the rear view mirror, Ben exited the car and headed toward the main entrance of the four-story building. At the door, he paused to straighten his jacket. The reflection in the glass entryway was almost that of a stranger, but one that he decided he liked very much and looked forward to getting to know better. 

He introduced himself to the security guard at the front desk, who responded respectfully and issued him a visitor's badge. “If you'd like to have a seat, your escort will be with you shortly, sir.” Yeah, the suit definitely got him noticed.

A few minutes later, a broad-shouldered man in his late thirties appeared. His skin was ebony-black, and his smile was broad. “Mr. Kensington?”

Ben stood for the firm handshake offered to him. “Ben, please.”

“Fred Guillermo. Fred, to pretty much everybody around here.” He gave Ben another wide smile. “Let's get you back to see the boss.”

After a few minutes’ walk, they entered an airy, sun-lit room holding a combination of cubicles and open work areas. Ben caught a glimpse of a steel door to his right, as Fred moved toward a short wall of offices and glassed-in conference rooms. The receptionist waved them through. 

A woman rose from behind the handsome wooden desk and approached with a smile. Of medium height, she had long black hair and wore a boldly cut cinnamon suit. She appeared to be about Ben’s age, at most a handful of years older, and exuded self-confidence. “Teresa Rivera. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kensington.”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure, Ms. Rivera.” Ben returned the firm handshake. From her quick, appraising look and minute nod, he’d made a good first impression. He mentally sent up another prayer of thanks to Quinn and Adele for their makeover.

“Fred here is my technical lead for the division. I've asked him to join us on this conversation.” 

“Of course.”

They settled into chairs, Rivera behind the desk, Ben opposite and Fred off to one side. Ben couldn’t help an envious glance at her state-of-the-art computer setup.

They danced around the usual questions about the job, the company and Ben's background. Fred occasionally interjected a question about specific equipment, or how Ben would deal with a particular technical problem. The almost casual question about certifications caused Ben a little unease, but they accepted that he hadn't needed them at the Academy, and seemed pleased that he was already working on updating his qualifications.

“You have an interesting skill set, Mr. Kensington,” Ms. Rivera commented. “I noticed from your résumé that you’ve spent several years at the School for the Academically Gifted on the other side of town. Tell me about some of your most difficult or interesting situations there.”

Having expected the question, Ben confidently launched into his response. Working with an older infrastructure, having to develop his own programs to deal with recurring issues like creating accounts for new students every fall, learning to cordially interact with difficult users, etc. All examples passed by without comment.

“When you resigned in May, would you say you left on good terms?” Rivera asked, leaning forward slightly. A positive sign, to Ben’s way of thinking. They were obviously getting to the important stuff. 

He nodded. “I was always careful to maintain good professional relationships with all of my users, from students and staff to the faculty members and administrators. Dean Winters expressed some disappointment when I decided to leave, but he also understood that I needed to seek out new and different challenges. In fact, he is one of my references.”

“Do you have reference letters with you?”

“I do.” Ben opened his attaché and pulled out the letters from the Dean, Quinn and Adele.

Rivera took the letters and laid them on her desk. She exchanged a look with Fred, then nodded slightly. “Would you mind waiting in the conference room next door while we discuss your application?”

“Not at all,” Ben said, with an easy smile.

“Thanks. We'll try not to take too long.”

Fred escorted Ben to the adjacent conference room. The receptionist, a young woman with liberal freckles and a nice smile of her own, popped in to ask if he’d like something to drink while he was waiting. Ben politely declined.

While he waited, he checked out the room. The furniture was older, but of good quality, and the space was clearly set up for both audio and video conferencing. He stood before the big glass windows and surveyed the brightly lit and spacious work area. Most of the people were dressed in some version of business casual, many in polos or dress shirts with the FC logo. There was one group having an animated discussion around a couple of work tables, while others appeared hard at work in their cubicles. The mean age looked a bit on the young side, but he saw a few here and there who appeared close to his own age. 

Overall, he was very favorably impressed with what he saw, but forced himself not to get his hopes up too soon.

~*~*~*~

To Ben's over-stimulated nerves, it seemed an eternity before Fred came back for him. By the clock on the wall, it was actually only about fifteen minutes. They returned to Rivera's office and took their seats.

“Thank you for your patience, Mr. Kensington.” Teresa leaned back in her chair. “We have a bit of an unusual situation here, so I'd like to give you a little background before we go any further.” She waited for Ben's nod, then continued. “Our division is quite new, the result of Headquarters consolidating several contracts and a recent acquisition, all dealing with direct customer support. I need to grow this division and make it profitable, and I'm looking for good people to help me do that.” She gave him an ironic smile. “We just won a new contract for six months of on-site support at the Academy. Obviously, the fact that you worked there for several years and have institutional knowledge is of interest to us.”

Ben nodded, careful to keep his face and tone neutral, even as his excitement ratcheted up a couple of notches. “Understandable.”

“We had asked you to come in to interview for a tech-support position, but we’d like to offer you something a little different.” She leaned forward. “We already have two techs who can probably handle the work, but I also want an on-site lead. It would mean working on site, maintaining support while you make improvements, getting a help system in place and training the techs on the Academy’s specific situation. You’d be doing a significant portion of the work yourself until we get a team fully up to speed, as well as running interference between the customer, your team and our company.” She smiled. “I admit to having high standards, but I'm not the ‘kill the messenger’ type. As long as you prove you can do the job, I don't micromanage, but I will be keeping an eye on how your management skills develop. The company will provide backup and technical assistance, but we don't want to give the customers *too* much more than they’re paying for, at least not in the beginning.” She sat back in her chair. “So, does that sound like something you'd be interested in?”

Are you kidding? I’d kill for it! Ben thought. Out loud, he replied calmly, “It’s certainly an interesting proposition. An extra level of challenge beyond what I'd been doing for them, and I admit, I find that exciting.” He paused. “I'd like to know what happens after the first six months, though.”

“Depends on you,” Rivera replied. “All of our people go through a one-year probationary period. Train your team to do great work, get a good support system in place, then I’d expect to be looking at what makes sense to keep improving your skill set and to keep you wanting to stay with us. You'll need to obtain some major certifications – I don't subscribe to the notion that certs are everything, but we have too many customers that think they’re magic. I’ve found that if you apply yourself to the material, though, they can be helpful. And if we invest money in you for training, we expect you to put in the effort to pass the tests. Would that be an issue?”

“Absolutely not.” Ben mentally shifted into bargaining mode, and Quinn hummed approvingly in his head. “Can we discuss compensation?”

Rivera handed him a sheet detailing a handwritten salary offer, together with a printed list of company benefits. The money was slightly less than he'd hoped for, but still a significant step upward. Add in several thousand dollars a year in paid training, paid vacation and sick leave, a broad-spectrum insurance package, 401K plan with matching funds, company cell phone and laptop, not to mention potential performance bonuses and future career growth… All in all, a very nice package. 

“It’s a good opening proposal, and I’m definitely interested.” He hesitated. “There is one thing, though. I have a personal commitment in August, probably ten days to two weeks. It’s one of the slowest periods at the Academy, because so few people are around before classes start. Is that a problem?”

“What if I say it’s up to you to make sure ahead of time that your people can handle things so it's *not*?” Rivera smiled, still friendly, but with a hint of a challenge.

Ben grinned, spurred by the show of confidence, and thrilled at the reference to ‘his people’. “I will make sure there’s no problem, Ms. Rivera,” he said firmly.

She beamed. “Excellent. Now, our first official meeting at the Academy is Monday morning. Today is Wednesday. Can you come in tomorrow morning to get the HR stuff out of the way and pick up some company shirts? And tomorrow afternoon, I'll want to meet with you, Fred and the tech team, to get everybody up to speed on the contract. Does that work for you?”

“I can be here first thing in the morning.” He smiled. “The Academy must be in a hurry if they want us in there so quickly.”

Fred laughed. “They were definitely in some kind of unholy hurry, after dragging their feet on the contract award.” He propped his hands on his knees. “I went out for an initial site inspection yesterday.” He rolled his eyes. “I don't see how you kept that place going so long by yourself. And that ridiculous office? I made all sorts of horrified noises about proper tech support, security, terms of contract and *more* security. They coughed up what looked like a big storage room next to the server room, and assured me they'd have it cleared out and the locks changed by Monday morning. We'll bring you in some good computers, too.”

“That’d be great.” Ben's grin widened. “And as for their ‘hurry,’ I have it on good authority that there's a virus going around their network, and a lot of people are *very* unhappy with its shenanigans. I expect that’ll be the first thing they want fixed.”

Rivera snorted. “That figures. Oh, well, the bigger the mess when you start, the better you look when you get it all cleaned up.” She stood and came around her desk. “Mr. Kensington, welcome aboard.” She held out her hand.

Ben returned the handshake. “Looking forward to working with you.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~

Ben barely managed to contain his excitement until he got back to the car. He forced himself to drive away slowly, then parked in a nearby McDonald’s and called Quinn.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Ben, that’s feckin’ brilliant!” Quinn sounded even more elated than Ben, if that was possible. “We have to celebrate! Dinner tonight, your choice, my treat! Sky’s the limit!”

“Your place,” Ben said firmly.

“The house?” Quinn asked, surprised. “Dinna ye want to go out somewhere?”

“Nuh uh. I want to come over there and celebrate with you and Bernie. Please?”

“Well, o’ *course*, if that’s what you want. What do you say, steaks on the grill?”

“The bigger, the better,” Ben said, with a grin that felt like it was going to split his face in two. Nothing like talking steak while looking at pictures of hamburger.

“I’ll find us the biggest porterhouses in town. Baked potatoes, salad, the works. And a fine old burgundy to wash it down with. Sound good?”

Ben’s stomach was already growling in anticipation. “Sounds bloody brilliant,” he said, with a laugh, echoed happily on the other end. “And an extra special dessert,” he added, dropping his voice to a sultry whisper.

Quinn growled in response, then chuckled. “See ye tonight, love!”

“Only if I see you first!”

~*~*~*~

By 11:30 Thursday morning, Ben was feeling more than a bit overwhelmed. His attaché was stuffed full of copies of forms, 401K booklets, HR manuals, company organizational charts and mission statement. Two dark blue polo shirts and three dress shirts in various neutral colors, all embroidered with the company logo, all still in their original plastic. Company picture badge, with prox card and a network ID. Late-model cell phone and a powerful lightweight notebook computer with accessories, and a snazzy First Call laptop bag to put it in. 

Fred showed him around. “This is the common area for all our off-site people. You can lock stuff up in the rolling storage drawers, and there's plenty of workspace. Plug in your laptop at any of the stations. And you can get a chance to talk to folks you don't get to see very often. If you need someplace quiet for a meeting, or just for something you’re working on, anybody can reserve one of the small conference rooms.” He grinned. “Sometimes a guy just needs a bit of privacy, am I right?” The friendly smile spoke volumes. 

“Thanks, it looks great.” What a difference from his dinky little 8’ x 8’ cubbyhole in the Mineral Sciences Building! 

“Oh, before I forget, there’s a company picnic in September, at that big park by the lake. Spouses and significant others are invited, of course. The boss likes her people to have good contacts and relationships with the other divisions, since they might have to work together, or learn about opportunities.”

Ben hesitated. His ‘significant other’ was not only an older man, but a senior member of the faculty of his new employer’s newest client. 

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Fred asked, in a low voice. “It’s okay to come alone, but we’re a pretty close-knit bunch, and everybody gets to know everybody else’s folks. The spouse, the kids, the dog, whatever. If you’re single, feel free to bring a date. Just be prepared for everyone to get nosy. Polite, but nosy.” He gave Ben another one of those contagious grins. “One big happy family, am I right?”

Ben smiled. “Thanks. I’ll put it on my calendar.”

Fred laughed. “Trust me, it’s already on there. The admins are fierce about making sure everybody knows about the ‘fun stuff’: trips to ball games, plays and movies, wine or beer tastings, holiday parties. We’ve even got a team in a local flag football league.” He clapped Ben on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you the cafeteria, and then we’ll get ready for the team meeting.” 

~*~*~*~

Ben's afternoon was spent in one of the small conference rooms, meeting his new teammates and going over the Academy contract. 

Paul Mitchell was a retired Navy vet, with twenty years in networking and security. About five- foot-ten, he was whipcord-thin, wiry, with a deep tan and short brown hair just starting to go gray, brown eyes and lots of crinkly laugh lines.

Thanh Nguyen spoke fluent English, Vietnamese, French and Spanish, and could code in six languages. She had a number of years’ experience in desk and server support. Five-foot-three, black hair and eyes, stocky but with long, delicate fingers, Thanh carried herself with confidence.

Erik Nordsen was blond, in his late twenties. Tory Balletoros had long, light-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, a Linux penguin tattooed on one forearm and appeared to be in his mid-twenties. Both of them had server, network and desktop experience.

Teresa Rivera explained Ben’s background and role as on-site lead for the Academy contract. After the first week, when everyone would be expected to be on-site, Paul and Thanh would be there full-time, while Erik and Tony would be back-ups. “And Fred, of course, is everywhere for everybody.” Fred rolled his eyes, with a clear “what else” shrug.

Ben mentally translated the contract’s boilerplate descriptions from Academy-speak, so he could enlighten his team the next morning. His biggest learning curve was going to be setting up staffing schedules and managing other people’s work.

“Now, the official kick-off meeting at the customer site is Monday morning at ten o’clock. It's a forty-five-minute drive, so I want all of you here by nine, and we'll carpool over. You know the dress code. Ben, as site lead, please wear a dress shirt with logo, khakis, a nice blazer and a tie. After the meeting, we'll be going directly to the workspace to get started. Thanks, everyone, and I'll see you all Monday morning.”

Ben met privately with Rivera afterward, and they went over some initial performance objectives. “Project accountability and management. Is that like reports?”

“That's part of it,” Rivera replied. “You need to understand the contract, especially customer requirements. I have to tell the client every month what we've done and what we've spent. I'll need weekly reports from your team on problems solved and any issues. At least once a month, I’ll want your evaluation of how well you think you and the team are doing. I'll email you some examples of weeklies and monthlies, so you don't have to start from scratch.”

“I'll make sure those are at the top of my to-do list.”

“Ben, I know I'm challenging you to do some things you've not done before. Part of what I'm looking for is how and how well you step up to those tasks. You’ve never managed a team before, but I can help you with that. You’ll also find that it may not be so easy going back to a place where you worked so long as ‘one of them,’ but where you’re now ‘just a contractor’, an outsider of sorts.” She smiled. “But know this: if I didn't think you were up to the challenge, I wouldn’t have hired you, in spite of your working knowledge of the Academy. It will be up to you to prove me right or wrong.”

~*~*~*~

It was nearly dark Friday evening when Ben pulled into the brownstone’s garage and parked next to Quinn’s dark green Jag. He turned off the engine, closed his eyes and sat quietly for a moment. Thank God he didn't have to turn in the rental car until the next morning – the thought of lugging his bags on the bus just added to his exhaustion. And parking was a bitch around his apartment building, one reason why he hadn’t seriously considered buying a car before, despite Quinn’s concern over his lack of mobility. 

He’d stayed up late Thursday night, going over the contract, reviewing the images of the Academy layout, planning what to say about the school and what he wanted to accomplish their first week together. While his session with Fred before the team meeting had been productive, it had also made him realize just how little he actually knew about being in charge of a team of people. Fortunately, the staffing schedule was not an immediate problem – they’d figured the first week would be pretty much all hands on deck, so to speak.

The team meeting, too, had been long, but useful. Fred had briefed them on his initial site visit. It sounded as if most of Ben’s documentation was still in his old office. However, the Academy had apparently been relying on hit-or-miss IT support since his departure. Ben had mentally moved server and security software to the top of his to-do list. His teammates had asked insightful questions and made suggestions for improvements. Ben and Fred had then spent another couple of hours firming up plans for Monday’s kick-off meeting. 

Practically brain-dead from trying to absorb so much information, Ben retrieved his computer bag and attaché, locked the car and headed inside.

An excited bark greeted him as he opened the door from the garage. Quinn met him in the foyer, took his bags from him, and enfolded him in a fortifying embrace. Ben felt as if he could have melted into those strong arms in that moment. 

Quinn stepped back, but continued to support him. “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet, love,” he commented. “What’re they doing to you at that place?”

“Just a really long day. Got a lot done, though. And I got to spend time with the people I'll be working with, so that was good, too.” Ben gave a wry smile. “Turns out I know a lot about the Academy and computers, but not much about how to run a team and be a contractor.”

“Ah, but what you don't know now, you'll learn quick enough, I'm sure.” Quinn traced a finger along Ben's cheek. “There’s Chinese take-out on the way, and we can make an early night of it.”

Ben nodded wearily. “Sounds perfect.”

Quinn solicitously tucked him up on the sofa with a cold beer, and left Bernini to keep him company. The food arrived minutes later, and Quinn broke his own strict rule by setting everything out on the coffee table, so Ben wouldn’t have to move. He listened quietly as Ben described his initial few days with First Call and the plans for the coming week. He knew most of it went right over Quinn’s head, but he appreciated the effort, all the same. 

They finished the meal off with some potent plum wine Quinn had found somewhere in his travels. Ben barely registered what he was eating, but it was nice to just sit back and let Quinn fuss over him. He felt his eyelids drooping, and it was getting harder to keep his mind on the conversation. He rubbed his eyes, and reached for his glass, but his hand trembled so much he was afraid of shattering the delicate crystal. Quinn gently took it from him.

“I think it’s high time you were in bed, love,” he said. “You’ve had a bat shit-crazy week, and you need a good night’s sleep.” He effortlessly gathered Ben up in his arms. Ben opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was a huge yawn, triggering an amused rumble in Quinn’s chest. He heard himself slur something about being too big to be carried, but the words didn’t make a lot of sense, even to him.

“Never too big for a wee bit of pampering,” Quinn said softly. “Just enjoy the ride.” He hummed a lullaby as he slowly climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Ben leaned his head into the strong shoulder and closed his eyes.

~*~*~*~

Quinn gently laid his drowsy lad on the king-sized bed and dimmed the bedside lamp. Crooning softly in a mixture of English and Irish, he carefully removed shoes and socks, then slacks and shirt. He left Ben’s underclothes on while he moved to the bathroom, returning with some massage oil. Then he gently drew off the undershirt and briefs, dropping them to the floor. Ben mumbled something, and the green eyes briefly cracked open, then closed again. 

Opening the bottle, he poured a small quantity into his hands. He started at the bottom, gently rubbing and squeezing Ben’s feet and ankles, enjoying the occasional involuntary twitches and sleepy murmurings of pleasure. He worked slowly up the calves to the knees, first the left and then the right. Long smooth caresses, alternated with a deep probing to unknot and relax tired muscles and tendons. He impulsively dropped a kiss to each kneecap, and heard a sleepy giggle from the head of the bed, which made him smile.

He progressed upward to the leanly muscular thighs, kneading and stroking the soft skin, chuckling at the dreamy groans. He was reminded of their first night together, after the Dean’s Halloween party. He amused himself with memories of that stormy night and the passion they’d shared, first downstairs in the living room, then here in this same bed.

Ben’s penis stirred under his gentle ministrations, and he reached again for the oil on the table. Warming it in his hands, he stroked around the russet curls, then out along the pelvic bones and hips. Ben’s ivory skin gleamed in the lamplight, like some pagan sacrificial offering. He leaned down and licked the tip of the semi-erect cock, and felt the involuntary reaction as Ben shifted slightly, but didn’t open his eyes. Quinn smiled as he bent again to his pleasant task.

Stripping off his clothes, he lay between Ben’s legs, which parted for him seemingly of their own volition. He reached again for Ben’s cock and drew it into his mouth, sucking lightly and twisting his tongue around it, from tip to root. Ben moaned appreciatively, and his hands clenched the sheets. Quinn hummed deep in his throat, a trick of Ben’s he’d come to enjoy. The organ in his mouth jerked spasmodically, and he had to open his jaws wide to avoid scraping it with his teeth. This wasn’t a seduction, merely a means of helping his love to relax and enjoy a much-needed good night’s rest.

As he leaned in again, he felt a hand tentatively touch the side of his head, then tug at a lock of his hair. Glancing up, he saw two green eyes staring down at him, mouth slightly open. The hand not holding his hair awkwardly patted the side of the bed next to him. Quinn smiled and did as he was told.

~*~*~*~

Next morning, Ben awoke about nine, alert and refreshed after a luxurious night’s sleep in Quinn’s king-sized bed. He had a vague recollection of being carried upstairs like a child, then being loved into a boneless stupor before falling deeply asleep in Quinn’s arms. 

He showered and shaved, then made his way downstairs. Quinn was in the garden out back, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. A plate of donuts sat on the table, along with a second cup and saucer, turned upside down. Bernini met him at the back door and escorted him to the table. “’Morning,” he said, reaching for the teapot.

“It is,” Quinn agreed, laying down the paper and removing his reading glasses. “Sleep well?”

Ben nodded. “Mmm, yeah. Thanks to you.” He grinned shyly. 

Quinn shrugged. "One does what one can.” He picked up his cup and sipped. “So, what shall we do this beautiful day?”

Ben bit into a donut. “I want to do some shopping.”

“What are we looking for?” Quinn looked interested.

“Clothes for work. Khakis, a blazer, ties, maybe new shoes. They’ve got a dress code. They gave me some polos and dress shirts with the logo on them, but I need to provide the rest myself. Oh, and I have to drop off the rental car by noon.”

Quinn nodded. “Fair enough. We should be able to find everything you need at the mall. If not, we’ll venture further out.” He folded up the newspaper and stood. “Shall we?”

~*~*~*~

Ben drove the rental car back to the agency, and Quinn followed in the Jag. When they arrived, Quinn came to Ben’s driver’s side window and leaned in. “Question?”

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you going to need the car again on Monday? You said the team was going over together from the main building, yeah?”

Ben sat for a minute. “Shit,” he said. How had that little detail slipped his mind?

Quinn tactfully didn’t comment on his slip. “Does this one run well? Do you like it?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, it runs great, and I checked it out before I took it off the lot. Gets good gas mileage, too. Why?”

“Give me the keys. I have an idea.”

~*~*~*~

“Good morning, gentlemen,” said the perky brunette behind the counter, with a bright smile. “My name is Phoebe. Are we dropping off or picking up?”

“Actually,” Quinn said, “perhaps a bit of both.” He gestured to Ben, who was standing a couple of feet away. “My friend here is returning a car he’s had for the past several days, but it turns out he’s going to need transportation a bit longer than he’d originally thought.”

“No problem,” Phoebe replied. “We can extend the rental. How long?”

“Well, y’see, that’s the thing,” Quinn said, before Ben could even open his mouth. “He’s likely going to be doing a wee bit of traveling for his job, but his schedule can be erratic. We were wondering what sort of… long-term options you might have.”

“Quinn,” Ben began, but Quinn gestured behind his back for him to stay out of it. Ben sighed and sat back to watch the master at work.

A flurry of keyboard clicks, then Phoebe looked up again. “We have very good weekly and monthly rates,” she said brightly.

“He rather likes the one he’s been driving,” Quinn noted, dropping the key on the counter. “And I see that it’s nearly two years old and approaching the forty-thousand-mile mark. Isn’t that about the cut-off point, after which you prefer to… recycle a vehicle?” He flashed her Warm Smile No. 3, the one that made rich socialites write big checks at Academy fundraisers. Ben chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. The man had no shame.

Phoebe blushed under his kindly scrutiny. “Um, well, yes, that is… about where we tend to retire them from service,” she stammered.

“And what happens to them then?” Quinn asked confidentially, leaning forward. 

“Well, most of them are usually sold to auctions or wholesalers,” she said, staring into the deep-set blue eyes. “Once or twice a year. The next one’s in a couple of months.” 

“What if someone were interested in purchasing something in your inventory *outside* of an auction? Buy direct, as it were?” Quinn voice held nothing more than casual interest, but Phoebe seemed at a loss for words.

"You mean you want to buy the..."

“Possibly,” Quinn said, with a noncommittal shrug. “Is that an option?”

“Well, I’d have to check with the main office, sir. It’s something of an… unusual request.” Seemingly a bit flustered, she pressed a combination of keys, then scanned her screen. “This is the silver 2015 Ford Taurus?” She picked up the key and compared it to her readout.

“Aye, it is.” Quinn lounged indolently against the counter. Ben made himself comfortable, feeling slightly redundant. He had to admit he enjoyed watching Quinn work his magic. Phoebe was looking as if she’d like to eat Quinn up with whipped cream and a cherry. Fat chance, lady, he thought smugly. He’s all mine. Eat your heart out.

“Could you excuse me for a moment?” she asked. “I- I need to make a phone call.”

“By all means, m’dear,” Quinn said graciously. “Take however long you need. We’ll be right here.” He waited until she was nearly to the door, then called, “We’d be paying in cash, if that makes a difference.” Phoebe gulped and disappeared into the rear office. 

“What are you up to?” Ben asked quietly from his seat.

Quinn spoke out of the corner of his mouth, still watching the door through which she’d exited. “Getting you a ride. The Mustang isn’t street-legal yet. You’re going to need transportation, at least in the short-term. And they’d probably decide they were overpaying you if you showed up in the Jag.”

Ben opened his mouth to protest that he didn’t need to take on a car payment, but at that moment, Phoebe returned to the counter. Quinn straightened and gave her his full attention.

“As I said, sir, it is a very unusual request, wanting to purchase a vehicle that is still in our working inventory. But, under the circumstances, we might be able to make an exception.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Quinn and he beamed at her, like a favored student who had just correctly answered a difficult exam question.

“Shall we see if we can do some business?” Quinn held open the swinging gate to allow her to pass through. Ben opened the door for her, earning a bright smile of his own. Quinn winked at him and followed her outside.

~*~*~*~

Two hours later, they’d dropped off the Jag at the brownstone, and Ben was driving their new car to the mall. Quinn slouched in the passenger seat, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He’d convinced the rental agency to sell them the Taurus, at a *very* good price, including a car history report, the remainder of the original warranty and an *additional* 12-month powertrain warranty. Poor little Phoebe might never recover from the attack of the vaunted Donovan charm. He hoped she at least got a commission off of the sale for her efforts. She sure as hell wasn’t getting Quinn.

Of course, the offer to pay cash might have had something to do with it, too. 

Ben’s halfhearted protests about car payments had fallen on deaf ears. After all, he *did* need some kind of transportation, if only to journey to the main headquarters. Quinn suggested putting it in his name and adding it to his existing insurance policy. Once the Mustang was up and running, they could sell it. Ben decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and concentrated on figuring out parking at his apartment.

The shopping expedition was equally successful. Three pairs of khaki slacks, with creases sharp enough to cut bread, a pair of highly polished black rubber-soled shoes and coordinating leather belt. Three silk ties harmonized beautifully with his First Call dress shirts. The tailored blazer Quinn chose for him was a deep rich navy, with a single-button closure. His First Call laptop bag completed the ensemble. 

Back at the brownstone that evening, Ben stared at the confident professional looking back at him from the mirror. Wait until Mark Winters and others saw him on campus with his IT team! Mouths would drop and heads would swivel for sure. 

Quinn laid his hands on his shoulders. “You are stunning,” he said, kissing the back of Ben’s ear. “I’m so damned proud of you.”

Ben grinned at him in the mirror. “It’s like a dream,” he murmured. “And you and Adele made it possible.”

Quinn shook his head. “*You* did it, love. We just made sure the wrapping properly reflected the quality inside.” 

“That suit was perfect. I felt like a million bucks in it. And it definitely impressed.” He gestured to the reflection. “This is a pretty snazzy look, too, huh?”

“Very professional,” Quinn agreed. “Your new boss is looking to make her mark in the world. You’re getting in at exactly the right time. I’m thinking they’re going to work hard to make sure you stay.”

“They’re a good bunch,” Ben agreed. “Friendly, too. Maybe a little *too* friendly, some of them. Like wanting to know everybody else’s business a bit too much,” he added.

“Problem?” Quinn asked, reaching around him to adjust the tie. 

Ben shook his head slowly. “No, not exactly. Just not sure how much of my personal life I want… out there, y’know? At least right away.”

“You mean us,” Quinn affirmed, without rancor.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed or anything,” Ben said quickly, and Quinn’s blue eyes twinkled in amusement. “Shit, you know what I mean, right?”

“I do,” Quinn said, smiling. “And you’re entitled to a bit of mystery, at least until you get your feet under you. Makes you that much more attractive. Feel free to say as little or as much as you feel comfortable with.” 

Ben hesitated. “They mentioned a company picnic in September. Spouses and ‘significant others’ are invited…” He trailed off. “Would you… um, like to come?”

“As your ‘date’?” Quinn asked, grinning.

“Hey, I’m going to Molly’s wedding as your ‘plus one,’ remember?” Ben retorted. “Turnabout’s fair play, right?”

Quinn kissed his forehead. “I’d be happy to accompany you, if you wish,” he said softly. “But I won’t be offended if you prefer to go alone. This is your playing field. I’m just a highly interested spectator.”

Ben nodded. He’d hardly expected otherwise. “The company handbook talks about how they’re an ‘equal opportunity employer,’ and all that politically correct crap,” he said slowly. “I don’t want to open a can of worms, being on probation for the first year. But I kind of had the impression it wouldn’t be a big deal either way. That there might even be some others. Nothing obvious, just… little things.” 

He thought back to his conversations with Fred, while he was showing him around. There’d been nothing overt, but he’d almost had the feeling that Fred was trying to very subtly flirt, or at least test the waters. It had been like a delicate dance, and he’d rather enjoyed the harmless back-and-forth. To be fair, though, he probably should make it clear that he was in a committed relationship. 

Hell, maybe he *should* bring Quinn with him to the picnic, and squelch any rumors before they could get started. 

~*~*~*~

Bright and early Monday morning, Ben pulled into the employee parking lot. At Quinn’s suggestion, he’d stayed at the brownstone Sunday night. Shorter drive, and no worries about where to park his shiny new wheels at the apartment.

The team was assembled outside Teresa’s office by 9:00. The four techs were smartly turned out in blue or red polos and sports jackets. Teresa wore a tailored navy silk suit, and Fred was in light gray, with a deep teal tie. Ben was glad he’d made the extra effort to spruce up his wardrobe.

By 9:50, they were pulling into the Academy’s Administration Building parking lot.

“We’re supposed to meet with Dean Winters and Ms. Vivian Chao, the Academy’s contract manager,” Teresa said, as Ben punched the elevator for the third floor. 

Ben nodded. “The Dean’s office is to the right as you get off the elevator,” he said. “His assistant is Deborah Billingsley. He couldn’t get through a day without her.” 

“Sounds like you got a thing for her, buddy,” Tory said, with a grin.

Ben shook his head. “Nothing like,” he said, smiling. “But she’s really nice, and she practically runs this place single handedly. You’ll definitely want to stay on her good side.”

They made their way down the hall to the door marked “MARCUS A. WINTERS, PH.D., DEAN OF STUDENTS.” Ben stepped back to allow Teresa to enter first, followed by Fred.

“Good morning, may I help you?” Deborah Billingsley said politely from her desk.

“Yes, thank you,” Teresa replied. “Teresa Rivera, with the First Call customer support team. We have an appointment with Dean Winters and Ms. Chao.”

“Of course, Ms. Rivera. Let me show you to the conference room.” She rose from her desk and started for the door, then stopped, eyes widening in surprise. “*Ben*?”

“Hi, Deborah,” he said, with a smile. “Been a while. Still holding down the fort?”

She took in the professional attire, the First Call laptop bag. “You’re with-”

“Ben is our site-lead, Ms. Billingsley,” Teresa interjected smoothly. “He’ll be your principal liaison with First Call, and will be overseeing the technicians and getting things up and running.”

“Well,” Deborah said, clearly impressed. “Welcome back, Ben. I feel better already.” She turned back to the others. “Please follow me.”

~*~*~*~

Deborah led the team down the hall to the main conference room. Ben had only been there a handful of times over his ten years with the Academy, mainly servicing the A/V communications system. 

A polite knock on one of the double raised-panel doors, then Deborah ushered the First Call personnel inside. She gave Ben a quick grin and a thumbs up as he passed, and he couldn’t help but return it. Tory winked at her and she blushed, then closed the doors behind them.

Dean Winters sat at the head of the table, lord of all he surveyed. To his right was Vivian Chao, the Academy's senior contracts administrator. She’d be fielding Teresa’s monthly reports and paying First Call’s bills. Beside her was the main facility manager, Noah Byrne. To Ben, they had previously been only names in the Academy directory. On the other side of the table were a handful of faculty members. 

And Quinn. 

Oh, boy, Ben thought. You could have *told* me you were going to be here! In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d probably leapt at the chance to insert himself into the meeting as a department chairman. In fact, he seemed to be the only sciences representative. 

“Come in, please, Ms. Rivera, Mr. Guillermo,” the Dean said politely, rising from his seat. The others followed suit. “Nice to see you both again. You’ve already met Ms. Chao and Mr. Byrne, of course. We’ve arranged for a few of our department heads to join us this morning, to address any special needs or questions.” 

“Thank you, Dean Winters,” Teresa replied, gesturing for the others to follow Fred into the room. They loosely arranged themselves at the foot of the conference table. Ben stood beside and slightly behind Fred, flanked by his team. “Allow me to present your First Call support team.” She quickly introduced Paul, Thanh, Tory and Erik, then added, with a small smile, “I believe you already know Mr. Kensington, our on-site team leader.” 

There were murmurs of surprise around the room, as heads craned to get a better look. Ben respectfully inclined his head, then moved with the others to take their places at the table. He could almost hear Quinn’s glee at his colleagues’ stunned reactions. The blue eyes gave nothing away, but Ben caught the quirky little grin in the corner of the bearded lips. He knew he’d be hearing about it later. 

He could hardly wait.

Mark Winters cleared his throat. “Thank you for the introductions, Ms. Rivera. Welcome to all of you. And, Mr. Kensington, may I say… welcome back. Your presence has been sorely missed around here.”

“Thank you, Dean Winters,” Ben said politely. “My team and I are looking forward to working with the Academy.”

Teresa gave him a tiny approving nod. Fred patted his knee under the table. “Nice going,” he whispered.

The next hour belonged to First Call. Teresa projected a perfect combination of professionalism and sincerity, emphasizing the need to work together to achieve their mutual desire for top-notch results. Service highlights were presented in terms their non-technical audience could follow. She was witty and gracious, capably adjusting when eyes began to glaze over. Fred took copious notes as she fielded questions about the more urgent needs and desires. 

Ben was impressed.

“I think that’s everything on our end,” Teresa concluded. “We'll start on the virus today, and be at full strength by tomorrow morning. Ms. Chao and Mr. Byrne, I can meet with you at your convenience to address your specific questions. Dean Winters, ladies and gentlemen, thank you again, and we look forward to working with you.”

~*~*~*~

It was almost 11:30 by the time the First Call team finally got to see their new home. Teresa gathered everyone together in what they were already calling the Help Room. 

“So, the meeting went well, and I think we’ve set the tone for managing expectations. Ben, you were right: their initial priority is to find and eradicate the virus. You have the priorities list. Fred and I will be back here Friday afternoon at two for a status report. Any problems, start with him. Remember, bad news doesn't get better sitting under a rock. Thank everyone. See you on Friday.” And just like that, she was gone.

Gazing at the five expectant faces, it suddenly hit Ben with a thud that *he* was in charge. His stomach did a few somersaults, while his heart rate went from waltz to jitterbug. He gained a few moments by busying himself with some papers from his laptop bag, but once he got going adrenaline carried him through. Assignments rolled off his tongue as he followed his list. Room arrangement, FC computers set-up, HelpPlus software, server updates, checking inventories.

He took a slow breath, as everyone turned to their allotted tasks. Fred gave him a knowing wink before heading outside to pick up a new computer. Ben smiled, allowing himself a moment of relieved pleasure before starting his own work.

And so the adventure began.

~*~*~*~

“Did you hear their jaws hitting the floor when you walked in?” Quinn crowed that evening, as they relaxed at the brownstone. “You could have knocked Mark over with a feather! It was brilliant. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Ben grinned. “I don’t know. I thought he handled it pretty well myself.” 

Quinn sipped his whiskey. “Yeah, well, after you all left, I got an earful. Did I know you were working for First Call? Why the hell didn’t I say something ahead of time? I looked him right in the eye and said nobody asked me.” He smirked. “After all, I haven’t exactly been hanging around campus this summer. How was I to know they *didn’t* know?”

Ben shook his head. “You’re incorrigible. I bet he was ready to chew nails and spit tacks.”

Quinn smiled. “Not really. He knows better than anyone what you were handling by yourself all those years. You jumped ship and they had to bring in an entire feckin’ *team* to do your old job! Served ‘em right, trying to dictate what we could and could not do on campus.” He grinned and clinked his glass with Ben’s. “Karma can be an *expensive* bitch.” 

~*~*~*~

Ben went down every item, reviewing his first report to FC. It was Friday afternoon, the end of a hellish first week. It really drove home how much he needed to learn about the work management part of the job. All of his carefully laid plans had had to be revised on the fly, as new problems arose. His original checklist was now a spaghetti maze of lines and arrows. At one point, Paul had gently taken him aside, reminded him to breathe, and then offered several helpful hints from his years in the Navy.

Fred and Teresa walked in together, promptly at two o’clock. Today she was in dress slacks, a silk blouse and light jacket. “Good afternoon, Ben. How are things going?”

Ben stood politely. “Good. We've made a lot of progress. Still some things to work on, but nothing critical. Have a seat.”

Teresa nodded. “Did you meet my urgencies?”

“By the end of today, yes.” Ben ticked off the items on his list. “We've been taking trouble calls since Tuesday morning. We'll finish the last building visit this afternoon. And here's the list of our short-term and longer-term priorities." 

“Nicely done.” She tilted her head. “And how are *you* doing?”

Ben's smile was wry. “The technical stuff, I can do,” he answered honestly. “And I've got a really good team. I know I need to learn how to delegate better; in particular, remembering to teach others how to do things, instead of trying to do everything myself. He sighed. “And apparently, I need to remember to occasionally think and breathe.”

Fred and Teresa both laughed. “A very promising start, Mr. Kensington," Teresa said warmly. 

Tired, but pleasantly buzzed, Ben led the way to his old office. It had been one of the lengthiest and most demanding weeks he could remember in a long time. It had been an eye-opener, too. He had a lot to learn, but he’d met his first big tasking and the boss was happy. That deserved a celebration, and he knew exactly with whom.

~*~*~*~

“Dinna ye be talkin’ back to yer ole mum thata way, bucko! Wash yer smart mouth out wi’ soap, I will.” 

Outside Quinn’s study, Ben barely stifled a guffaw. The anticipated reaction wasn’t long in coming.

“Bollocks! The bloody thing be naught but a boggart, I swear to God!”

Ben clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Did he actually think his computer was haunted? 

“Boggart, be I, says he? I’ll be showin’ ye boggart, ifen ye be not learnin’ better manners, m’lad. Hee hee hee hee!”

“*BEN*!” The full-throated roar shook the walls. Bernini barked in alarm, and Ben quickly shushed him. Impressive lungs for a nearly fifty-year-old man.

He waited a few strategic seconds, then casually stuck his head in. “You bellowed?”

“This bedeviled gizmo be inhabited by a wee ghostie! It’s feckin’ possessed! And callin’ me out, besides! What the bloody hell is goin’ on?” Quinn was red-faced and perspiring, his brogue thick enough to cut with a knife. He’d pushed his chair back several feet from the offending laptop. On the flat-screen monitor, a colorful cartoon leprechaun danced a jig, periodically doubling over in laughter and pointing. 

“Oh, is that all?” Ben asked. “Sorry, guess I forgot to check your laptop when we were removing the virus from the school’s systems. That’ll teach you not to work summer session,” he added, with a smirk. “The servers have been cleared for days.” 

He’d retained a copy of the program on a flash drive. Purely for research purposes, of course, in case it popped up again somewhere. It really was a nifty bit of engineering. And knowing it had no lasting effects, the temptation to upload it to Quinn’s laptop had been too much to resist. 

Quinn scowled. “Ye be thinkin’ this is some kind of a joke, yeah? Nearly gie me a feckin’ heart attack, it did.” He glanced back at the monitor and mopped his brow with his handkerchief, a slow, reluctant grin spreading over his bearded face. “Ye got me good, lad, and no mistake. Now kindly get that piece of gobshite out of there, so I can go back to me work.”

Ben hit a couple keys and the dancing leprechaun vanished. “Your wish is my command,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss. Quinn pulled him onto his lap and returned the kiss with interest.

Several pleasurable minutes later, Quinn leaned back again. “You rum beggar,” he said admiringly. “*This* is what was giving everybody on campus fits?” Ben nodded. “Scary thought. But wait, I saw Adele’s wee poltergeist – it wasn’t the same thing at all.”

Ben shook his head. “No, it was tailored to each user. Really brilliant work. Most of the ladies got sexy guys sweet-talking them, but the men… Well, Dean Winters probably told you about his Grim Reaper, right?” 

“Aye, he said it was positively funereal. Quinn grinned.

Ben lowered his voice to a wicked whisper. “That was tame. Professor Smythe-Wellington got a guy dancing around in pink silk pantaloons, wearing *his* face. Guess you’re not the only one who doesn’t like him much, huh?”

Quinn roared appreciatively. “Damn, I wish I’d seen that!” 

Ben pulled the portable drive out of his pocket. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny every word,” he warned. 

Quinn watched avidly as “Mad George” capered about the screen. “It’s feckin’ brilliant!” he crowed.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, Ben opened a few of the other files, struck again by the creativity and personalization of each. Whoever had created the thing had really done their homework. With only a couple of exceptions, they’d been unfailingly diplomatic toward the majority of the female faculty and staff. Adele’s sexy French sailor was his personal favorite, and Quinn’s delighted chuckle echoed his sentiments.

Quinn leaned back in his chair, still chuckling. “I don’t pretend to understand any of it, but it’s bloody grand, all the same. And look at how it all worked out for you, yeah?”

Ben grinned. “I’m surprised no one’s accused me of planting it before I left, just to get my foot back in the door. Not that I’d ever consider such a thing,” he said quickly, before Quinn could open his mouth. 

Quinn chuckled. “Of course not. Not in a million years.”

~end~


End file.
